


I Live Here, Old Man

by totallyrandom



Series: Stiles is Trans, Dude [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, Derek Hale Cooks, Domestic Fluff, Domestic af, FTM Stiles Stilinski, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Pack Dynamics, Pre-Slash, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Summer Vacation, Trans Stiles Stilinski, this isn't about being trans though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyrandom/pseuds/totallyrandom
Summary: Stiles swoops into the living room of Derek’s new house. “… Uh … What … Um, where the hell is everybody?”“Beach weekend up the coast,” Derek says. “Scott didn’t tell you?”“ … Maybe? Finals, you know. I wasn’t even planning to come home ’til next week but then I helped my folklore TA out of a situation yesterday and they told me I didn’t have to finish my final project after all. It was so beneath me anyway. Ugh, I had to take three showers afterward, though, so I’m not sure it was worth it. I mean, it was soooooo Arzt.” He shivers. “Don’t ask. … Anyway… So why are you here?”“I live here.”





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably get a sequel, but I haven't started it yet.

Stiles blows into town in late May, hurtling himself through the front door to Derek’s new home, heedless of what he may be interrupting. He whirls around the living room, triumphantly waving his phone around. 

“That’s right, assholes! I’m a straight-A student for the second year in a row, and I’ve got proof riiiiiiiiiiiiight heeeeeeeeeeeere! So, dudes and dudettes, while I’m in the can, you better be brainstorming what we’re doing to celebrate my awesomeness today!” 

He swoops into the living room a few minutes later waving his phone around again before finally noticing the room is empty. “… Uh … What … Um, where the hell is everybody?” 

Derek hits save and gets up from the table to walk over and look at the phone Stiles is still holding at arm’s length. “Beach weekend up the coast. Scott didn’t tell you?” 

“ … Maybe? _Finals_ , you know. I wasn’t even planning to come home ’til next week but then I helped my folklore TA out of a _situation_ yesterday and they told me I didn’t have to finish my final project after all. It was so beneath me anyway. Ugh, I had to take three showers afterward, though, so I’m not sure it was worth it. I mean, it was soooooo Arzt.”[1] He shivers. “ _Don’t ask_. … Anyway… So why are _you_ here?” 

“I live here.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes and waits. 

“I’m busy. … Congratulations on your _report card_. And no more caffeine today.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. And this isn’t caffeine; it’s sleep deprivation. … Also, ‘report card’? Why are you such an old man _all the time_?” 

Derek huffs. “You’re a 4th grader.” 

“Ouch, dude. I’ve been a legal adult since senior year!” 

“Right.” 

Stiles leans in to continue the fight, but Derek cuts him off. “If you’re going, do a quick check on the treaty first? I could use fresh eyes.” 

“Yeah, sure, if you really want me to.” 

“Of course I … ”

Stiles sighs dramatically. “It isn’t easy being this awesome all the time. My expertise is so in demand! Saving TAs, fixing treaties. No time for Stiles to go frolicking in the ocean all day with his friends. _Alas!_ ” Stiles leans in to look over his shoulder. 

Derek leans away a bit. “It’s fine. This can wait.” 

“Nah, man, it’s all good.” Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “I’m here and kind of completely sick of driving right now. I mean, I love the Jeep, but there are limits, you know? And my back was already fucking killing me. And it may be kinda actually unsafe to get back behind the wheel right now? Plus, you know I’m more of a creature of the night than a beach-goer.” 

“Like a vampire. Because you suck.” 

“I told you! I don’t want to talk about the vampire, Derek!” 

“What.” 

“Mooooooooving on!” 

“But … ” 

“Seriously, dude.” 

Derek sighs. “Thanks. Lydia said five times was her limit.” 

“All work and no play makes Derek a dull boy. And makes Lydia a real … person in need of a beach break.”[2] 

Derek pushes Stiles’s face away and hands over a stack of papers before going to the kitchen and grabbing a caffeine-free Diet Coke, popping the tab, and pushing it into Stiles’s other hand. 

Stiles pours half the can in his mouth in one gulp before dropping the papers back onto the table and running to the kitchen sink with a hand clamped over his mouth. He shoots Derek a dirty look after he spits. “What the _fuck_ , dude? That shit is rank.” 

Stiles sticks his tongue out repeatedly, looking like a gecko as he tries to exorcise the taste of the offending drink.[3] Derek scowls and mumbles something Stiles can’t hear. “Huh? Speak up, dude. I think this sludge gave me permanent brain damage.” 

“Like we’d notice.” 

Stiles doesn’t even bother turning around. “Stuff it, fang face! … For serious, Derek, are you trying to _kill me_ with this foul brew?” Derek glowers at the floor. “Seriously, _this shit_ ,” Stiles splutters as he turns around. “Straight-up toxic waste in a can.” 

Derek snatches the can away and pours the rest down the drain before rinsing it and dropping it in the recycling bin. He’s silent as he fills a glass with water. 

Stiles hangs his head for a moment before taking a calming breath and scooting over to lean against the fridge. He accepts the glass with as much grace as he can scrape together. 

“So, uh, the treaty’s really gonna happen, then? That’s … that’s really awesome. I mean, I know you’ve been working on it for a long time and everything. … Didn’t you, uh, think it was gonna take a lot longer? To get everyone to agree to the language or something? Like all summer, I thought. You were going to be away over the Fourth. Or was that just an excuse to skip the pack barbecue?” 

“I’m not antisocial,” Derek grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at his bare toes on the checkered linoleum. 

“Says the guy who’s not at the beach with the rest of his pack.” 

“I wanted to finish.” After an uncomfortable stretch of silence he adds, “You better not burn my burger this year.” 

“Medium rare is not burnt!” Stiles explodes. He pauses to rein himself back in. He clears his throat. “That’s, uh, that’s really great. About the treaty. … I guess we’ll have to come up with a new project for the summer, then, huh? Maybe dig out a pool in the backyard or build a deck or something? Gotta find a way to put all those wolfy muscles to good use, right?” 

Stiles punctuates his point by leaning over and poking him in the arm. Derek just blinks at him. 

“Or, you know … not. Whatever. It’s a long summer. I’m sure we’ll find something to do. Hopefully with no body count!” 

When Derek doesn’t reply, Stiles downs the water and hands the empty glass back then roots around in the fridge for a can of something potable. He just sighs and takes the water glass back to refill it. “I better, um,” he waves the glass toward the door as he walks backward toward it. “I should get started before I crash.” He’s already on the other side of the threshold when his stomach grumbles. 

“Welcome back,” Derek whispers, long after Stiles is out of earshot. He slips out the back, closing the door and directing his attention toward the trees, breathing in fresh air for a few minutes before calling in a lunch order and heading back inside to tuck a heating pad behind Stiles’s back. 

When the food arrives, Derek has to actually wave an eggroll under Stiles’s nose to remind him he’s hungry. He lures him over to the couch to eat, since there’s no clear spot at the table. Stiles stumbles out of the nest of papers and haphazard piles of books and drops down sideways on the couch, leaning back against the armrest. 

Stiles is quiet while they eat, shoveling in the food like maybe it wasn’t just one meal he’d skipped recently. Stray noodles and grains of rice fall everywhere as he lets the chopsticks dangle from his mouth to scribble frantic notes on his hand between bites. Eventually, Derek pulls the food cartons away and shoves him back toward the table with a promise to reheat it later.

 

***

 

Derek has his head in the fridge, pulling out leftovers for dinner, so he almost brains himself when Stiles yells, “What the actual _hell?!_ ” Derek closes the fridge with a sigh.

Stiles looks up, blinking as he reorients himself in space and time. “Uh … When … What … It’s dark?”

“Dinner?” 

“Uh, no? I’m … thanks, but … Can we go over this? Because, I mean, I don’t understand how you would allow … And Lydia! … You really _can’t_ … I mean, seriously, Derek!”

“Hold on.” Derek goes to get them both water before pulling up a chair so they can look over the papers together. “Show me.”

The treaty has more red marks than printed words by the time Derek scoops everything up at 2 am and sets a few heavy books atop the various piles.

“Wha … hmm?” 

“You’re writing random letters.” He pushes Stiles toward the living room. “Sleep.”

With something approximating a nod, Stiles stumbles to the bathroom and back over to the couch, shedding shoes and belt and flannel as he goes. Derek turns away before the end of the strip show. He goes to the closet and grabs a pillow and sheet, throwing them across the room and over the back of the couch, which is hiding Stiles’s already prone form. 

“Oof. Good shot, dude.” Stiles’s yawn morphs into a soft snore. Derek only stands in the corner listening to him sleep for a few minutes. Only breathes deeply and waits to exhale as he peels down to his boxers behind the door in his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] <http://lost.wikia.com/wiki/Leslie_Arzt>
> 
> [2] <http://dangerousminds.net/comments/all_work_and_no_play_makes_jack_a_dull_boy_from_the_shining_in_other_langua>
> 
> [3] <http://video.nationalgeographic.com/video/gecko_two>


	2. Day 2

A burning smell awakens Derek and he stumbles out quickly into the hall, relieved to find he’s in his new house and not the charred shell of the former Hale house. Sometimes he forgets he’s not in the crumbling loft anymore, but he hasn’t dreamed of the fire in months … 

He scrubs at his eyes with a mumbled “What?”

“Shit, Derek! Sorry!” Stiles blurts at him over his shoulder while hovering between the stove and the open window, waving his hands frantically as though his flailing would somehow help clear the kitchen of smoke. 

Derek grabs a lid from the cabinet and smothers the smoldering pan before turning on the ceiling fan and opening the back door with a sigh. 

Stiles slumps in relief before going rigid, eyes glued to the patch of hair in the middle of Derek’s chest. Stiles startles and turns away, stomping off to the bathroom. 

Derek squints after him a moment then shifts his attention to scraping out the pan and pulling out fresh ingredients for breakfast. Lunch? He can’t remember the last time he slept this late. He peers out the window and decides breakfast food is good any time. 

“Ok, so the big Oregon pack,” Stiles starts before he’s even through the kitchen doorway, but his rant dies out when his gaze catches on the dark tattoo covering Derek’s back. 

“Oregon?” Derek asks, looking over his shoulder at Stiles and continuing to scramble the cheesy eggs without incident. 

“Huh?” 

“What’s that about Oregon?”

“Uh, yeah, no, noooooot urgent. We can … later. I … I should probably just go home? and change? and come back? … later maybe? Or not. I don’t need to … I can just … ” 

Derek turns off the stove and slides the eggs onto two plates, adding toast before slipping past Stiles to set them on the table. Stiles’s eyes follow him across the room before he looks away with a sharp breath. 

“Dude, can’t you put that away while we eat, at least?”

Derek looks down at himself then back at Stiles, who’s staring blankly at the floor. “Grab the butter.” 

When Stiles gets to the table, Derek is seated but hasn’t started eating. He’s in a soft-looking black T-shirt and faded jeans. Stiles stares at his plate while he eats in silence. 

“You can stay if you want to keep working. Or go join them at the beach.” 

“Oh, uh … Yeah. I can … I mean, I don’t feel great today anyway. So I guess we might as well wrap this up?” 

Derek groans. “I really thought we were done.” 

“Sorry?” Stiles offers with a grimace.

“Better right than fast,” he shrugs. “Go home. I’ll figure it out.” 

“Yeah, I mean … But it was kind of a mess?” Stiles laughs awkwardly and then almost misses his mouth with a precarious forkful of eggs. 

It takes Stiles a half hour to finish the three eggs and toast as he rattles off a litany of problems between bites, crumbs dropping to his lap as food sprays from his mouth. Derek just brings him another napkin and tries to follow the stream of consciousness. 

They work for another three hours before Derek wrinkles his nose and sends Stiles down the hall to shower and change into some of Derek’s clothes he hopes will fit.

Stiles comes out in baggy jeans that are only long enough because they hang too loosely at the waist. The sleeveless undershirt fits just fine. He throws the T-shirt at Derek with a chuckle. “Waaaaaay too big, dude.” Derek only stares at Stiles’s shoulders briefly as he leans over the table to start rearranging the scattered papers. 

 _To Lydia:_ stiles ripped into treaty. might take dasy to finish 

She doesn’t reply.

Stiles scribbles quietly a while longer before letting out a triumphant, “Take that, assholes!”

“They’re not. … Mostly.” 

“Sure, sure. But just in case they _are_.” He waves a clump of papers in Derek’s face. Derek grabs his wrist to push the fist out of striking distance. 

Stiles leans back in the chair, cracking his back with a happy sigh. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Dad!” He leaps away from the table, lunging for his discarded pants, fumbling the phone out. 

 _To Stiles:_ be nice to detail. let me knew of you’d make it home fur diner tonicity 

He gapes at the phone until he figures out how to read between the autocorrect fails. His gaze snaps to Derek. And then at the phone. And back to Derek. “Dad told me to be nice. To _you_. And he seems to think I won’t make it home for dinner again?” 

“I texted him last night. He said not to let you drive tired. And that you’d get cranky if I didn’t feed you. Like we all don’t know.” 

“Fair.”

“He’s working a double now. If you’re not heading to the beach today, you might as well stay.” 

Stiles mumbles out a grudging thanks as he walks back to the table. He drops the phone into his pocket—dragging the borrowed jeans even lower and revealing a hint of hipbone—before collapsing back into the chair. 

“Sooooooo. Should we try to edit the file or just retype from scratch?” 

Derek blinks at him until Stiles snaps his fingers in his face. “Whichever.” Derek slides the laptop over to him. “I can’t read your chicken scratch.” 

“Seriously.” Stiles opens a new file, talking while he types. “Hey, so where’s the signing happening, anyway? Like, do you have to drive around all over the place to get all the signatures in person? Or did the driving around happen already? Or do they, like, sign online? That feels sketchy to me. Oh, is there gonna be a gathering of all the big alphas somewhere? Hey, I always wondered: are there werewolf conventions? Yearly alpha parties? If so, you’ve never gone, obviously. Awww, do they have alpha parties and not invite you? Sad. … Or have you just been hiding it from us? … I kinda always assumed everyone would be too territorial all in one place.” 

“They’ll come here. Separately. Maybe a couple together from neighboring packs, if they’re friends. … Not the alphas. The second can speak for the alpha. So the second and up to two others in their pack, unless they come with someone from another pack. Three visiting wolves maximum, however they decide to work that out. No alphas.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense. They’re all coming to Beacon Hills, then.” 

Derek nods. “Shows gratitude for our pack organizing the treaty. And respect for my mother. … And acceptance of me as this territory’s alpha.” 

“Bad _ass_!” Stiles punches him on the arm. “Wait, so we have to like feed them and shit? Are there going to be formal dinners? Am I going to have to teach Scott which fork to use?”

“You know which fork to use?” 

“I know enough to know there _are_ different forks and shit. Wikipedia will explain it all to me.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“That’s not an actual answer. Wait, which furball is gonna be your second?” 

Derek growls at the insult. 

“Not Isaac, obviously. Or Jackson—god forbid. You love us to much for that. So, someone people actually liiiiiiiiike. But Boyd talks even less than you do. No way he wants to do that shit. Erica? I dunno. You need someone with some fucking chill. So … _Scott_. Really, Derek? That’s a terrrrrrrrrrible idea. Or maybe the others don’t have to like them, just listen to them? Because we all love Scott, obviously, but he’s not very forceful. Commanding. Decisive. He can’t be allowed to speak for the pack, dude. You have to know that. … That leaves … Lydia? Yeah, ok, that makes sense.” Stiles nods once in approval before continuing. 

“Oh, unless it has to be a wolf? Because if so … Scott again? Duuuuude. Look, I love Scott like the best of all bros but, I mean, he doesn’t really have a killer instinct. At _all_. And, yeah, I know it’s not _all_ about killing. Especially lately, which has been a very welcome change, I must say. And it’ll be even more calm with the new treaty, I assume. Yeah, if it were just _rawr_ and snark all the time, Isaac or Erica’d be fine. But they’ll never be big on diplomacy. You need someone who can, like, deescalate shit. And Boyd is calm as fuck, but not much of a talker—compared to _you_ even. But Scott? I mean, it’s _sometimes_ still about killing, man. Like, killing has to be on the table for your second, Derek. So, no Scott, dude. Seriously.”

Derek keeps his face neutral. 

Stiles sighs and claps him on the shoulder. “I think you might have to go recruiting? If the pack would even accept a new wolf as your second. That just seems weird. And would you even trust a new wolf? You barely trust us and it’s been fucking years, man. Promise me—seriously, _promise me_ —you’ll let me help you pick any new wolves this time. Because … dude. Sorry and all. I mean, I’m sure you’d be much better now at …” He waves his hand around in Derek’s general direction. “Still, Scotty’s in your pack, so I think I have brotherly rights to weigh in on any new members. For my bro’s safety.” 

Derek lets him wind down. “My second doesn’t have to be a wolf.” 

“Cool. So, Lydia. … Shit, is she going to be mad that I ripped apart her treaty?” 

“My treaty.” 

“Suuuuuure.” 

“She’s at the beach.” 

“She doesn’t care that I’m messing with it? Weird. You’d think the power would go to her head. Glad she’s learned how to be chill enough to delegate. Do you think she’d stab me if I tell her that college has mellowed her? … Duuuuuuuude, she trusts me to finish up her treaty???” 

“ _My_ treaty.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, how’s the rest of the pack taking it? Lydia being second, I mean. When did you tell them? Why didn’t any one tell me?” 

“It’s not … she’s not … we haven’t …” Derek huffs and takes a calming breath. “I don’t have to announce my second. It’s just how the pack already works.” 

“Well I didn’t know. You can’t expect me to like sense all your wolfy pack dynamics. It helps if you tell me shit once in a while. But you’ll be there when the seconds come to sign, right? You can’t leave Lydia alone with them. We don’t know if her scream works as a warning if it’s about herself. And she’s still learning self-defense against humans, not even weres. You can’t just …” 

“Stiles. It’s _my territory_. They can’t acknowledge me as alpha without me. I’ll be there. With two wolves. My second doesn’t need to be there.” 

“I guess that makes sense. Have your second somewhere else in case things go shitty. But it might look stronger to show that you trust your betas to hold the territory even when their alpha _and_ second are meeting with visitors. And shouldn’t Lydia be there to learn this official shit for when she needs to go represent you to other packs? And to just even meet the other seconds? Plus, you really need someone there who’s familiar with the treaty. 

“ _I’m_ familiar with the treaty,” Derek reminds him. 

“Riiiiiiiiiight.” 

Derek sighs. “Stiles, do you want to be there?”

“ _Hells_ yeah, dude! I want to see these assholes up close! Wait, that didn’t … ” His eyes go wide and he stammers. “I mean, I want to check them out … ” Stiles choke-coughs. “I have a very good eye for evil. Everyone knows that! I want to be there to, you know, size them up. The other wolves.” 

“Fine.” 

“Yessssss!” 

It takes Stiles three hours to decipher the rest of his notes and get them together into something approaching a coherent document. 

“Dude, it’s KitKat time. … You know, like I need a fucking break?”

There’s no answer as he slaps the laptop closed and stands up to stretch. He wanders around looking for Derek before yelling out the back door: “Dude! Where ya at? Lassie come hooooooome!” 

Nothing. He shrugs and sits back down to try to proofread some more while he waits, almost missing the sticky note on the lid: “At the store. Text if you need supplies or anything.” 

There’s no time on the note, so he has no idea how long Derek’s been gone. He pulls out his phone, but there’s only a selfie of Lydia in front of the rest of the pack playing volleyball at the beach. “Assholes!” 

 _To Lydia:_ thx for the invitation

 _To Lydia:_ srsly evry1?

She sends him another picture, of Erica spiking the ball. He throws the phone down on the table and gets back to work with a grumble. 

The next thing he knows, Derek is replacing the laptop with a plate of food. Stiles blinks at him blearily. Derek withholds the fork from his grabby hands. “Stretch and get a drink first.” 

Stiles stares at the lasagna. It smells amazing. He goggles at Derek a minute before stumbling up to grab some water. There’s a pan of lasagna on the stove. A real pan. Not a takeout container. A real pan. Stiles gets stuck in a loop of repeating it in his head over and over. Or maybe not just in his head. 

“The hell’s a fake pan?” 

“You _cooked_.”

Derek just pushes past him to get his own water. 

Stiles grabs his arm. “You cooked for me.” Derek looks at Stiles’s grip until he lets go. “You cooked … _twice_ today.” Derek fills his glass and goes to sit down again. Stiles follows on his heels in a stupor. 

“Why?” 

“Why.” 

Stiles huffs. “Why’d you cook?” 

“So we could eat.” 

“But you could’ve just sent me home?” 

“Sheriff said there’s a big accident. His double is turning into …” Derek shrugs.

“Oh.” 

“I do eat when you’re not here.”

“Huh?” 

Derek just raises an eyebrow and waits.

“You cook like this every day?” 

“Eat before it’s cold.” 

The food is fucking amazing. “You put chorizo in it! Shit, dude. I want to marry your lasagna. I’m going out tomorrow to buy the ring.” There’s salad and garlic bread on the table, too. Stiles uses a hunk of bread to sop up the sauce that’s left behind after he scoops the last bite into his mouth. He refuses to make eye contact with the salad since there’s more lasagna in the kitchen and his dad’s not here, so he doesn’t have to set a good example for anyone right now. 

He sits down with a heaping second serving and picks up his fork before belatedly asking, “Sorry. I should have ... There’s lots left still! … Uh, were you saving it for leftovers?” he asks sheepishly. 

Derek says it’s fine and sits back as Stiles goes for thirds, demolishing the rest of the lasagna and the garlic bread. 

“So, can you, like, actually cook? Or is it just omelets and pasta? I mean, if that’s all you cook, it’s still, you know, waaaaaaaay better than the rest of us. Scott does fine with raw foods, you know, but he’s too distractible to be trusted with stoves or open flames.” 

“We’ll put Jackson and Lydia in charge of the grill.”

He points his fork at Derek. “Smart.” He nods. “Smart.”


	3. Day 3

The next morning, Stiles sprays his Raisin Bran everywhere as he complains about various clauses in the contract that still aren’t quite right. He pauses halfway through a sentence to look down at his bowl. “The fuck you feeding me? Cardboard flakes and desiccated grapes? Seriously, you’re such an old man. … Guess you blew your load yesterday?” 

Derek’s eyes lose focus for a second. He grumbles, “I forgot eggs. And oatmeal.” He pauses. “That’s it in the house without sugar. Sorry.” 

Shocked, Stiles loses his grip, flinching as the spoon clatters into the bowl. “Sugar? … I didn’t say … How’d you know I was … ” He skips appreciation and jumps straight from confusion to indignation. “That toxic shit you made me drink was for me? specifically? _on purpose?_ ” The indignation morphs quickly into vindication. “Ha! I knew no one else would drink that vile fizz! I _fucking_ _knew_ none of you would be choking down that caffeine free, sugar free abomination!” 

Derek says nothing. Stiles just looks at him before sighing. “Sorry, dude. I mean, it’s really nice of you and …yeah. Sorry.” He tries again to choke down the breakfast. He manages two and a half spoons of the sad excuse for cereal before giving up. “Nope. I can’t, dude. I can’t! It can’t be done! _Tell me_ you have some Coco Puffs stashed somewhere, please. God, _chocolate_. I could eat like a whole fucking bag of Kisses right now.” 

“I could make hashbrowns?” 

“Not chocolate, but tell me more.” 

Derek shoots him an exasperated look. “Want it or not.”

“Obviously. You know, if you keep making me delicious food, I might never leave. Dad can hire movers to bring my shit over. You have a spare room, right?” He grins at Derek before collapsing in giggles. “Seriously, though. We’re close. We should keep working and I can just invite dad over to eat here tonight. He’ll be so impressed that you’re living like a real adult human now. With like matching dishes and shit. C’mon, alpha man, show us what ya got.” 

Derek blushes. “There’s another lasagna in the fridge … ”

“He can’t eat that!” Stiles interrupts, jumping up and swinging his arms wildly. Derek shrugs and Stiles collapses with a fake sigh. “I _guess_ you and I will have to take care of finishing the lasagna _ourselves_ for lunch. It’s ok; I’m willing to make the _sacrifice_ for his health, Derek.” Derek shakes his head. “But what are we going to have tonight then? … Maybe some chicken or salmon or something to go on that salad we didn’t eat? Honestly, I figured this fancy kitchen was just for show. Your new place is seeeeeeeeeriously swank, dude. When did you move in?” 

“Two weeks.” 

“And you’re already unpacked.” 

“Pretty easy to get things done when _you’re_ not here.” 

Stiles throws a highlighter at him. Derek catches it easily and sets it on the counter before starting to set out whole potatoes, onions, peppers, chorizo, and cheese on the counter. 

“If you’re taking a poll, I’m 100% in favor of chorizo eeeeeeeeeeverything.” 

“Noted.” He starts chopping the onion. “Sheriff said he’s working tonight anyway. I could make breakfast tomorrow. Vegetable frittata?” 

Stiles points at the cutting board. “Rather than letting the onions fool you into thinking I’m crying about you cooking amazing, healthy food for my dad, I’m just gonna poke around the new digs while you finish cutting shit up.” 

Derek starts to say something but just goes back to the onions. 

Stiles wanders around touching everything, opening everything, peeking in all the corners. He laughs when he gets to the bedroom. Derek’s shoulders are still tensed when he wanders back in and plops down on a chair by the table. 

“That smells fucking amazing. ”

“Pretty hard to screw up.” 

“Well, I’m preternaturally good at fucking things up,” Stiles grumbles with a frown. “Aaaaaaaaaanyway, I can’t believe you _actually_ bought black sheets. I mean, of course you did. But seriously?” 

“Navy.” 

“Oh, _ok then_.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Still, dark sheets are so impractical; the just show all the … ” Stiles cuts himself off with a strangled cough. “I mean, I’m, uh, surprised Lydia hasn’t forcefully redecorated the whole place yet.” 

“She tried.” 

“Tried?” 

“Spent half a day returning tiny pillows. And mauve curtains.” 

“Mauve,” Stiles chuckles, bellying up to the table. “Derek Hale knows what mauve is.” 

“ _Now_ I do.” 

Stiles’s laugh dies when the plate lands in front of him. His brain goes offline for a minute. When it reboots, he takes out his phone to snap a photo of it. He frowns at his phone then turns his plate slightly and takes another. Plus a picture of Derek in the middle of a bite. 

Derek sighs. “It’s better hot.” 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I can cook tomorrow. I can totally make muffins from a box with applesauce instead of oil. Or I’m pretty good at not ruining whole-wheat pancakes. If you don’t feel like making that fritter thing.” 

“Frittata.” 

Stiles points the fork at Derek and nods then digs in, grinning around his bite and stomping his feet like a six-year-old. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” he moans as his eyes slip shut. Derek exhales out a long breath then keeps eating. 

When Stiles finishes clearing his plate, he stares at Derek, who is still eating at a more reasonable pace. Focused only on the food, Stiles leans all the way over the table to steal a bite, then another. Derek just pushes the plate toward him. 

“Thanks, dude. This is soooooooo good. I could eat like five plates of this.” 

“For normal people that would be hyperbole.” 

“Old man,” he mumbles around the last bite, laughing a bit at the return of Derek’s scowl. He pops up to do the dishes. “Look over my changes while I clean up.” 

There aren’t many dishes to wash and dry, but it takes Stiles way longer than it should to find where to put everything away. Derek, in the other room, has no idea why Stiles insists on most of the minor wording changes he’s made in this round of edits. They yell questions back and forth until Derek gives up and brings the laptop in, resting it on the kitchen bar.

“So, how married are you to this crap organizational scheme you’ve got going on in here, dude?” 

“What.” 

“I’m just saying, it’s fucking impossible to find anything in this kitchen. You have the glasses in one cabinet with the plates and then the mugs are in a different one with the bowls? Like, who does that?” 

“Why’d you change ‘permission’ to ‘invitation’ on page 17?” 

“Seriously, your kitchen is hurting my feelings. Can I please impose some order on this chaos? … They’re not the same thing. I added a separate clause about protocol for visitors who enter a territory uninvited.” 

“We don’t need separate procedures. It’s too many details. You doubled the length of the treaty.” He sighs. “No one’s going to read all this. … One cabinet’s breakfast; the other’s dinner.” 

“Well, now I understand how you got this place unpacked so quickly. This is fucking ridiculous, Derek. I’ve got to fix this. You have to let me fix this. … And they damn well _will_ read every fucking word.” 

“How will we know? … As long as I can find a mug, a bowl, and a spoon when I get up, the rest I can hunt for after my coffee.” 

“Dude, the point is that if you let me impose some basic fucking logic, you won’t have to hunt for anything. Seriously. I don’t even care. I’m doing this. … And we’re gonna talk about every provision with the seconds while they’re here. Before they sign it. So they won’t be able to pretend later that they didn’t know.” 

“It’s not a kids’ book. We’re not going to read it out loud with each pack. It’s enormous. … And I don’t care; just put whatever wherever you want.” 

Stiles turns to blink at Derek. They both turn back to their work quickly. 

“Yeah. Um, good, yeah. This will be all organized before you know it. … And it’s only _78_ pages.” 

“No one can remember all those details. … Are you going to redecorate the whole place, or is it just the kitchen that offends you?” 

“Poor organization _is_ very offensive. I’m streamlining for efficiency. My OT professor would be very proud. … Flip to the last page. No, wait, 2 from the end. Yeah, the penultimate page. Or maybe antepenultimate?”[4] 

Derek huffs when he reads it. “No one’ll consider that binding. … What’s OT.”

“Occupational therapy. I mean, not that you strictly need the reorg like clinically. And, yeah, ok, it’s more like, I dunno, it’s not really much like OT at all, I guess. But, whatever, it’ll make it easier for the rest of the pack to find shit while we’re here so you won’t have to wait on us and shit. … Keep reading.”[5] 

“Because I’ve ever waited on people.” 

“What, Lydia actually comes in here and tries to find things in this kitchen?” 

“That’s why I keep Jackson around.” 

“Oh. my. god. I am telling him that. I might text it to him right now, even. Oh my god. That is literally the best thing you have ever said to me. Our conversation has peaked. I should just go home right now.” 

“Not until all that’s back in the cabinets.” Derek sighs. “They won’t sign this.” 

“What’s the fucking point of a treaty if it’s easy to misunderstand or weasel out of? Being specific makes things better for everyone so no one has to guess. Just go back and finish it. In order from the beginning instead of just looking at the new changes. Makes more sense that way. Go. Get out of here. I need that counter space.” 

Derek squints at Stiles, who folds his arms and looks right back. Derek huffs and moves toward the other room. His back is already turned when Stiles breaks out in a smug smile.

Derek is typing quickly when Stiles eventually emerges from the kitchen. “I’m adding a summary of the main points at the end. Just in case,” he tells Stiles. 

“You don’t think they’ll use that as an excuse not to read the whole thing?” 

Derek shrugs and hits save before handing it over.

“Yeah, switch. Make sure you can find shit in the kitchen now.” 

When Derek comes back, they just grin at each other. 

“Hey, can we swing by Dad’s on the way to the store? I need to grab clothes that fit and … some other things. And I really need to start on laundry.” 

“Wash it here while I proofread then we can have lunch.” 

“Yeah? It’s … it’s like a semester’s worth of clothes?” 

“Can’t be that bad, Stiles.” He reconsiders. “Open all the windows before you bring it in.” 

“Good call.” 

“I should have a smaller t-shirt somewhere if you want to look. … And the … the bathroom is fully stocked.” 

“… Holy shit, I’m starving again,” Stiles says as he rubs his stomach, dragging his shirt up along the way. Derek startles when the doorbell rings. 

“Company? Who else do you even know?”

Derek opens the door and Stiles’s stomach growls when the scent of pizza blows in. He runs over and grabs the boxes while Derek tips the driver. By the time Derek turns around, Stiles has half a slice of pizza shoved in his mouth and another is his other hand. His moan would be pornographic if he didn’t look so ridiculous.

“Gross. Go get plates since you know where they are now.”

Stiles shoves the rest of the slice in his mouth to give him a free hand for the plates. He’s still chewing the second slice as he reaches for a third. Derek slaps his hand.

“Eat like a human.” 

Stiles sticks his tongue out. It’s got bits of cheese and sauce stuck to it. 

“I’m never feeding you again.” 

Stiles just kicks at him until a text distracts him. Derek pulls his phone out too. 

“Shit, Dad’s taking an early lunch. I need to run some food over for him right now. What’s yours say?” 

“Same thing.” 

“That’s …. _why_? Nevermind. I have to run.”

Derek shoves him back down. “Wait.” He comes back from the kitchen with three plastic containers: for the salad, some balsamic dressing, and half a slice of pizza. Stiles gapes at him. 

“Go.” Derek follows him out and grabs his laundry bag, trying not to gag. Stiles just stares some more. “You’ll be late.” Stiles just blinks at him a few times before turning the key and peeling out. 

He has barely handed his dad the food before he’s being pushed back out the door to get an important work file the Sheriff had forgotten at home. When he gets back, he makes Stiles copy the entire file for Derek. 

By the time that’s done, the Sheriff only has time for a quick hug and a half-legible grocery list before running out to meet with the mayor. Stiles just sighs and takes pictures of everything on the case board before slipping out. Just in case it’s interesting. 

Since he’s going to the store anyway, he texts Derek for the grocery list. He doesn’t even know what half the things are, though. After another 10 texts full of questions, Derek tells him to forget it. Stiles pulls up to the new house ten minutes later. 

“What happened to shopping?” 

“Dad said to give you this file. Since you didn’t want groceries, I came here first.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me yet. It looks super boring and human. And it’s not urgent. I think he just didn’t want to make you come down to the station if it’s a waste of time.” Stiles almost misses the small smile. “Ok. I’m off.” 

“I’ll come.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I promised to make dinner.” 

“Right. Hey! You totally bait-and-switched me!” Derek’s brow scrunches. “We were supposed to have orgasmic lasagna for lunch and you gave me pizza instead!” 

“You didn’t seem to mind when you ate half a pie.” 

“Look, it was good pizza, but my little swimmers are still waiting for that fucking lasagna.” Derek scowls. “Yeah, ok, that was unnecessarily graphic. But the point still stands!” 

“It’ll keep.” 

“You just don’t want to share.” 

“Stiles, I can make it whenever I want. I don’t mind sharing the rest with you. Even if you eat 3/4 of it.” 

“Lunch tomorrow, then? _Promise me_.” 

“Sure.”

 

***

 

Stiles puts away his dad’s weekly groceries while Derek starts making dinner.

“Oh, you’re cooking here?” 

“Seemed easiest.” 

“Cool, cool, cool.” 

The Sheriff comes in an hour later, shovels down some food while standing at the sink, and then crawls into bed. 

“Sorry dude.” 

“It’s fine. There’s more left for lunch tomorrow. Let me know if he actually likes it. I should go.” 

“Ugh. My Jeep’s at your place and I'm all full and sleepy now,” Stiles whines. 

“I’ll drive it over tomorrow.” 

“What, and run home all wolfy after? Plus, you owe me lasagna.” 

“Fine. Call and I’ll pick you up. We should finish the final corrections before everyone comes back.” 

“Right. They’re home tomorrow, right?” 

“Day after, I think. Night, Stiles.” 

“G’night.” He tromps upstairs, leaving the kitchen mess for future-Stiles to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [4] <https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/antepenultimate>
> 
> [5] <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occupational_therapy>


	4. Day 4

Future-Sheriff is not amused to wake up to a sink full of dishes. He pounds on Stiles’s door, even though it’s barely past sunrise. Or maybe it’s 8. Either way, it’s too early for Stiles. But he thinks it’s worth getting up so he doesn’t miss the chance for breakfast with his dad. 

Stiles drags himself to the kitchen to make apology pancakes, and he even lets the Sheriff have one piece of real bacon. It’s a good breakfast, but too short. He just misses his dad so much. 

Stiles packs Derek’s leftover marsala chicken for his dad to take to the station for lunch. “Don’t overheat it or it’ll get rubbery and gross. It’s really good, so you don’t want to ruin it. And make sure you slow down and taste it this time! And thank Derek later. He came here and made you dinner and you barely grunted at him last night,” he yells out the door after him.

Stiles is about to crawl back in bed when he gets a text from Scott asking if he’s ever coming up or what. He texts back: _Y yr coming home tomorrow_ and gets back: _Cmon dude_ and a surfing gif in reply.[6] 

They spend the next ten minutes sending increasingly dumb beach gifs back and forth until Derek and Lydia both reply: _STOP_.[7] Stiles apologizes for not realizing it was a group text and then whines for seven more messages about missing everyone until Derek distracts him by calling to ask if he should come by now. 

“I haven’t showered yet. Still in my pjs. But there’s leftover pancake mix and bacon if you want.” 

“Ok.” 

“Let yourself in and I’ll come down and cook after you get here.” 

When Stiles gets downstairs, Derek is already eating at the table and there’s a full plate of food waiting for Stiles. 

“I ate with Dad.” Derek just looks at him. “Yeah, ok, I probably would’ve stolen half of yours. But I was gonna cook for you today,” Stiles pouts. 

“Another time.” 

Stiles nods, already distracted with trying to steal Derek’s last piece of bacon. Derek rolls his eyes and rips it, holding out half. Stiles leans over and bites it right out of his hand, lips just grazing Derek’s fingers, before sitting back and rubbing his belly with a satisfied sigh. 

“So, we should totally go up to the beach today.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Dude, it’s just one night! You can’t work on the treaty without me anyway. And it’s probably perfect by now. I won’t be able to relax if I know you’re here, undoing all my hard work.” 

“Whose work?” 

“ _Ours_. Whatever. Don’t make me drive up alone. … You know they want you there, right?” 

“Let’s see how today goes.” 

“Fiiiiiiiiiine. I’m gonna go pack so we can leave ASAP. Is that ok? Or do we need to go back to your place right now?” 

Derek just waves him away. Stiles comes back with an empty duffle. “All my shit’s still at your place.” 

When they get back to Derek’s, Stiles just stares at the laundry room, which is lacking in clothes. “Dude, did you throw out my laundry? I mean, it was pretty ripe, but it didn’t need to be euthanized!” 

“It was bad.” 

Stiles checks the backyard, but there’s no sign of his clothes. “What the fuck, dude?” 

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes him toward the guest room, which now has a dresser. With Stiles’s clothing in it.

Stiles pulls open all the drawers and just stares at the neat stacks before grabbing a big stack of T-shirts and dropping them in his backpack, filling up two-thirds of the space already. Derek pulls most of them back out and puts them back in the dresser. He hands Stiles some shorts instead. Then underwear. Stiles’s underwear. That Derek folded. And is now holding and placing carefully in the bag. 

Stiles is a bit stunned, and blushing violently, so he offers no resistance as Derek finishes packing and zips it up. Unlike when Stiles packs, the zipper isn’t halfway to bursting open. 

Stiles stammers out five half-questions before settling on saying, “You did my laundry. Like, you washed, dried, and folded my laundry, dude. And put it away in drawers. In a dresser. Which now exists. This totally wasn’t even here before.” 

Derek just give him the usual “so?” eyebrows. 

“When did you even go furniture shopping, dude? And why a dresser? There’s not even a bed in here.” 

“Table was full of papers. Bar’s piled with books. The stacks fell over when I sat on the couch. I didn’t want them on the floor. … And I thought if Cora eventually ... ” 

Stiles gives him a sad smile and pushes him out toward the living room, brainstorming movies they could watch while they demolished the lasagna. 

Stiles falls asleep halfway through, pressed up against Derek, who swings Stiles’s legs around onto the couch and tucks a pillow under his head before heading to bed himself. 

Stiles wakes up to a text from his dad saying he’d be coming by Derek’s to say bye before the trip, if that’s ok. Stiles is confused about waking up at Derek’s and startles at the time. He wanted to leave two hours ago. Nothing he can do about it now, though. 

He stumbles to Derek’s room to let him know about his dad. Derek’s door is halfway open, and Stiles allows himself a moment to admire him there reading in bed. Stiles sighs quietly, but it’s enough to startle Derek. 

“Everything ok?” 

“Yeah, um, Dad’s coming by before work? If that’s ok? You don’t have to feed him. He can just come say hi and then pick something up on the way back to the station.” 

“You hungry?” 

“I kind of want to give him a hug and go back to sleep. But we should get on the road.”

“I don’t think there’s time for a frittata to bake, but I can make a quick egg-white omelet with vegetables.” Stiles smiles at him dumbly. “Yes?” 

“Is it rude to make you cook for my dad while I just go back to sleep until he gets here?” 

“Yes.”

Stiles’s eyelids are already drooping and he’s only upright because 80% of his body weight is being held up by the doorframe. Derek just nudges him onto the bed with a sigh and texts the Sheriff before heading down to the kitchen. 

As soon as he hears the Sheriff’s cruiser down the street, Derek throws together an amazing but healthy omelet for breakfast, setting it on the table just as he hears the knock. He’s already boxed up half a dozen muffins the Sheriff won’t even realize aren’t bad for him. 

The Sheriff suggests that they let Stiles sleep and makes him promise to send him by the station before heading to the beach. 

“Thanks for looking out for him, Derek. He probably still has a few weeks’ rest and a couple meals to catch up on.” 

“That’s my fault, sir. He’s been working really hard on this treaty.” 

“You should let me look at it when you’re done.” 

“That would be great, thanks.” 

“No problem, son. This town is my territory, too.” 

“Of course. I’m sorry; I should have thought of that sooner.” 

“Nah, I’m sure you and Stiles covered everything. Another pair of eyes can’t hurt, though, right?” 

“Thank you. That would … I’ve never done anything this … It’s a big deal. Do you want to be there for the signings?” 

“Are you sure you want _two_ Stilinskis there?” 

Derek laughs with a shrug. 

“Very diplomatic, Derek.” 

“Well, one of us has to be. And it’s not going to be Stiles.” 

The Sheriff tilts his head. “He knows this is important. I think he’ll surprise you, Derek.” 

“Always does.” 

The Sheriff smiles at him and rolls his eyes. 

Derek’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t ask what that means, and the Sheriff just grabs the muffins and heads toward the door. 

“Thanks for this. I’ll wash it and leave it in my office. You can pick it up whenever.” 

“The pack bought me a triple set as a housewarming.” 

“That’s subtle of them.” 

“Stiles is the only one who didn’t know I cook. It’s a good hobby when they’re off at school.” 

“I hope next semester he’ll be able to come back more often. The county finally approved the new budget, so Stiles might not need that weekend job anymore.” 

“Will he take the help?” 

“I’m sure it won’t take much to convince him he’d rather be here on the weekends now.” 

Derek doesn’t know what the Sheriff’s smirk means, and he thinks maybe it’s better that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [6] 
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> [7] Stupid beach gif war:  
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	5. Day 5

Even though Stiles slept the rest of the previous day, it’s ten before he drags himself out of Derek’s bed. He finds him on the back steps reading a book, hunched forward a bit with his elbows resting on his knees. It’s pulling his T-shirt taut across his shoulders, and Stiles doesn’t quite manage to stifle his whimper.

Derek whips around in panic, his wide eyes narrowing in confusion when he doesn’t see anything wrong. 

Stiles clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just … was surprised it’s morning? Dude, we’re never going to get to the beach before they head home at this rate.”

“The Sheriff said to let you sleep in.”

“Dad was here?” 

“Yesterday. I told him you’d stop by on your way out of town.” 

“You’re really not coming with me?”

Derek shrugs.

“Well, I mean, I just got up. You don’t have to decide right this second.” 

Derek just hums and goes back to reading, but Stiles pops his head out again a few minutes later. “Dude, I can’t believe I forgot I’m like a month overdue for an oil change, so I should really do that before I leave. That’ll give you plenty of time to pack.” 

Derek purses his lips. 

“Ok, it was maybe more like two months. There wasn’t anywhere to do it on campus and I wasn’t gonna _pay_ someone else!” 

Derek just shakes his head and heads inside. Stiles squints down at his clothes, trying to figure out whether he’s willing to ruin them or needs to change first.

“Go scramble some eggs. I’ll take care of the oil.”

“I know how to do an oil change!”

“Didn’t say you don’t.”

Any further protests die in Stiles’s throat as Derek strips off his shirt and pants and heads to the door in just his boxer briefs. Stiles stumbles after him, mouth open and eyes wide. He props himself up on the doorframe and gives himself five more seconds of staring before tearing himself away from the sight of Derek’s bare legs sticking out from under the Jeep. 

“So I’ll just, uh… pack for you, then. Since you’re … busy.” Derek’s growl doesn’t deter him in the least.

And if he gets a little lost in checking out Derek’s wardrobe, no one will ever know. He decides with a smirk not to pack any black clothes for Derek. Well, except boxer briefs. The dude needs more color in his life. Not mauve, like Lydia had tried, of course. But he’s determined to dig out every scrap of colored clothing hiding in Derek’s room. 

Stiles has a hand in the underwear drawer when Derek comes in, covered in grease. They both blush furiously and Stiles blurts out a quick thanks before grabbing the bulging bag and dashing out of the room.

Derek checks his phone before heading to the bathroom and instead makes a detour over to Stiles.

“Come on.” 

“Dude, you’re not gonna shower before we hit the road?” Stiles mumbles around a slice of cold pizza. “I mean, the Jeep has definitely way handled worse stains than a little grease, but don’t you want to get cleaned up? 

“We’re going for a run first.” 

“Dude, it’s getting late. We really need to get on the road.”

“Check your phone.”

Stiles shoves the rest of the slice into his mouth and pulls out his phone to read a message from Lydia saying they decided to stay at the beach an extra week. “Awesome!” 

“Plenty of time for a run.” 

“Noooooooooo. I just ate. I don’t think it’s safe to do anything strenuous for a while.” 

Derek just throws his sneakers at him and stares from the front door. 

“Ugh. Fine.” 

Stiles survives. Barely. But his head feels clear for the first time since before finals. Which made it easier to gasp out the litany of reasons why Derek should drive up with him tomorrow. He still hasn’t caved, though. Derek just pulls out the ingredients for a frittata out of the fridge and sends him off to shower. By the time Derek is cleaned up too, dinner is ready. 

“Dude, I gotta say, as far as apology foods go, this is a solid contender. I mean, if there were brownies too, you’d be totally out of the doghouse. But good effort here.” 

The oven timer goes off then and Derek pulls something out to cool. Stiles squints at him but he’s too busy enjoying the food already on his plate to jump up and check what’s waiting on the counter. He’s contemplating a third helping of the frittata when Derek sets a pan on the table.

“Duuuuuuuuuuude. If you ever get married, I hope you’ll consider adopting me. … Or you can be a single parent. That would be fine.” 

“Sheriff might not like that.” 

Stiles chokes on his brownie and blinks rapidly at Derek. “What! … I mean … I knew you’ve been working together, but … Really? … Um, he’s a good catch, obviously … _Really_?” 

Derek stammers, “No! You … just … you have a father. Already. I can’t. Adopt you.” 

Stiles throws his head back and just breathes for a minute. “Thank fuck.” He shoves another brownie in his mouth and groans out around it, “If I let him have one of these, Dad’d let you adopt both of us. Fuuuuuuuuck, Derek. What’s _in_ this? I can’t decide whether to eat it all now or save some for later.” 

“Milk chocolate chips and homemade caramel. Can _I_ have one?” 

“Sure, if you make more for the pack tomorrow. We should see if the place has an actual kitchen. And, I mean, you’ll need to make like 10 pans. I could help, though. I mean, I’m a shit baker, but I can hand you things and, like, stir?” 

“I’ll give you the recipe to take with you.” 

“Did you miss the part where I said I can’t bake for shit?”

“Someone in the pack can.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I mean, I’m sure Lydia _could_ if she wanted to. But I don’t think she would.” 

Their phones buzz. Stiles’s hands are covered in brownie, so Derek checks. 

 _To Derek_ : Sorry I missed your at the station. Exhausted. See you when your get back. 

“Sheriff’s going home. You should have breakfast with him tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, we totally should.” 

“I’ll tell him.” 

Stiles carries the already half-empty brownie pan over to the couch and plops down, looking back over his shoulder until Derek follows. Stiles forces him to watch almost half a season of _Steven Universe_ before the sugar high wears off enough for Stiles to try to go to sleep so they can make it an early morning. 

Derek could live happily never hearing the words “and Steven!” again.[8]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [8] <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfKUdmTq2MI>


	6. Day 6

The Sheriff had insisted on treating them both to breakfast in the morning, since his son has been eating Derek “out of house and home.” Derek actually wakes Stiles up in time, and they make it to the diner only 15 minutes late.

“So, how much do I owe you for babysitting my son and feeding the bottomless pit?”

“Nothing, sir. He’s more than paid it back with the treaty.” 

“What?! After all that complaining, you’re finally admitting how indispensable I am? And in front of a witness? This is the best day ever.” 

“Shut up.”

The Sheriff cuffs Stiles upside the head gently. 

“Just for that, you get no sausage with your scrambled egg-white, spinach, and tomato breakfast wrap, Daddy-o.” 

“ _Ma Nishtana_?”[9] 

“Ha ha.” 

Derek leaves them to their bickering and focuses on the menu instead. 

When the plates are all scraped clean, the Stilinskis both lean back and pat their bellies. Derek tries to hide his fond smile with a laugh.

“Shut up, dude. Not all of us were born with abs for days.”

The Sheriff just shakes his head and slides out of the booth to pay the check. He comes back to leave the tip and reminds them he’s left a case file on the kitchen table to look at when they get back in town. A quick hug and he’s off to work while Stiles tries to signal for a coffee refill. 

Derek slaps his hand down. “Absolutely not.” 

“Asshole.” 

Stiles clips a curb on the way out of the parking lot because he’s distracted by how Derek’s profile looks backlit by the morning sun. He hopes he’s not bending the rim by backing up into the lot to pull the Jeep out of the way. 

“Should’ve cut you off earlier,” Derek mumbles. 

“Shut up.” Stiles hops out to grab the jack and the spare tire and just stares silently at the back of the Jeep. Derek rounds the bumper a second later. 

“What.” 

Stiles just motions at the missing spare. “I, um … someone … there was a little problem with …” Stiles stops to regroup. “I forgot that I’m driving on the spare. I haven’t replaced the one that got … _Fuck_. I meant to do it right when I got home but then, you know,” he waves a hand toward Derek, “there was stuff.”

“You’re blaming me for not having a spare tire.”

Stiles pats at his belly. “Well, I’m working on one for sure, but I’m not there yet.” He winks at Derek who just pinches the bridge of his nose and waits. 

“Shit. Ok, so … I obviously can’t call Dad. And no one else is in town. So I guess I have to call a tow. On top of buying a new tire. Fuck.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Go back inside. I’ll be back in a few minutes. No coffee!”

Stiles doesn’t have time to reply before Derek is jogging away. “Are you kidding me? Oh my god.” 

When Derek pulls up in the Camaro, Stiles is swearing quietly at his phone. 

“What now?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, just playing … Nevermind.” He hops up and follows Derek back outside. “Dude. Seriously? You just ran a half-marathon and didn’t even break a sweat? How is that fair?” 

“You’re mad because I’m not sweaty.” 

Stiles loses focus for a second. “So now what?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Now you take that one off and we go get two new tires.” 

“Dude. I’m not buying two brand new tires. I’ll get these patched. It’ll be fine.” 

It’s not fine. The curb tore a hole in the sidewall, so it can’t be patched. Neither could the other, because there’s a 4-inch gash in the sidewall that was obviously no accident. Derek glowers at him until he nods with a sigh. 

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s just …” He waves toward the seller, who talks him into one brand new tire and a lightly used one for the spare. 

Derek insists on them proving the quality of the used tire. And he put it all on his credit card while Stiles is still gaping at the total in despair. Derek pops the trunk and lets them load in the tires while he steers Stiles, who is still just blinking in shock, back to the passenger door. When they get back to the diner, Derek checks out the other 3 tires as Stiles jacks up the car, then hovers to check his work. 

“Two of these are pretty bald. You should replace them and then have them rebalance everything.” 

“Sure, Mr. Moneybags. I’ll get right on that next year when I’m done repaying you for these.” He throws the jack into the back of the Jeep and leans sullenly against the bumper. 

Derek pushes him gently toward the driver’s side door. “Come on. I’ll follow you home.” 

“Sure, Pearl.”[10] 

When he gets there, Stiles collapses on the front steps, staring forlornly at the Jeep. Derek drops down next to him. 

“I think the universe is conspiring against me, dude. Doesn’t want me to go have fun in the sun.” 

“Maybe the universe doesn’t want you to get sun poisoning again.” 

Stiles huffs a laugh and knocks shoulders with him. “It’ll be at least the end of summer before I can pay you back. And that’s if I can find a second job. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Spend the time with your dad. And the pack. Don’t waste the whole summer working.” 

Stiles looks at the profile that got him into this problem in the first place. Derek pushes his face away. 

“You’re a marshmallow, Veronica Mars.”[11] 

“What.” 

Stiles just hums and leans into him. “You’re not gonna let me drive the Jeep up like this, are you?”

“I’ll slash all 4 tires. With my claws.”

Stiles drops his head onto Derek’s shoulder dramatically. “That wasn’t my fault!”

“What wasn’t.”

“Nothing. Hey, since we’re here, we might as well take a look at the case now. If you want.”

Derek follows him into the house and they huddle around the kitchen table studying the report until Stiles’s stomach growls. 

“Lunch?”

Derek is scribbling some notes and doesn’t even process the question. When Stiles gets back from town with meatball subs and 3 kinds of pie, Derek startles. Stiles drags him into the living room so they don’t smear anything on the case files.

“I, um, didn’t know what kind of pie you like?”

“Pie.” 

“Yeah, um, thank-you pie still counts even if I don’t bake it myself, right?”

Derek smiles at him and nods. Stiles blinks at him until the smile turns into a frown. “What.” 

“No, nothing. Sorry. You know how I just space out sometimes.”

Derek doesn’t look convinced, but Stiles shoves a sub at him and they move on to channel surfing while they eat.

“Soooooooooooo, can I bum a ride to the beach?”

Derek thuds his head back on the couch. 

“C’mon. You can come back the next morning if you want. I can catch a ride home if you don’t want to stay the whole time.” 

“They won’t let me leave.”

“Dude, you’re the alpha. Pretty sure you can flash those reds and walk out whenever you want.”

“You don’t believe that.” 

“Sure I do. I just think once you get there you won’t want to leave. You don’t have to decide right now. At this point, we might as well wait until morning anyway.” 

Derek just sighs, and Stiles takes that as a possible victory. 

The Sheriff comes home to find the living room littered with lunch trash and Stiles and Derek snoring on each other’s shoulders as the movie credits roll. He sneaks up the stairs as quietly as he can, but the third step gets him every time. He continues on to the bathroom to wash off the day, and when he gets back downstairs, Derek is washing up the last of the dirty glasses while Stiles is still out on the couch.

“There’s a sub with buffalo grilled chicken in the fridge for you. And Zantac on the table. If you promise not to tell Stiles, I can show you where he hid the pies.”

“Pies? As in multiple pies? Did I miss a special occasion?”

“He called them thank-you pies.” 

“He baked for you? And it’s edible?” He frowns. “It doesn’t smell like he baked.” 

“No, they’re from Jolene’s.”

The Sheriff levels him with a wary look. “What exactly did you do to deserve _three_ pies from Jolene’s?”

Derek clears his throat. “He just didn’t know which kind I liked.” 

“And which kind do you like?”

“Pie.” 

The Sheriff grins. “Me too, son.”

Derek ducks his head and finishes putting away the glasses.

“Since I don’t want to get caught, I probably ought to have my dessert first, don’t you think? You have room for another slice, don’t you?” 

“Ok.” 

The dinner conversation is a bit stilted, but they settle on trading opinions on the case and the treaty and it smooths out. They’ve settled into a contented silence when Stiles finally stirs. 

“Hey, Daddy-o! It’s good, right?” He points at the sub. 

“Yeah, it’s alright. I like the fried kind better.”

“Yeah, that can be your new motto, if you live long enough.” 

The Sheriff just hugs an arm around his waist. “Thanks for bringing me dinner, son.” He squints at them suddenly. “Why are you here?” 

Stiles laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. “I live here, old man.” 

“You sure about that?” he asks dryly.

Stiles doesn’t notice that the Sheriff’s eyes slide over to Derek, who blushes.

“Well, not for the next week, I don’t!” 

“I thought you were driving up today?” 

Derek gives Stiles a look. Stiles shakes his head minutely; he doesn’t want to tell his Dad why he hit a curb again. And he certainly doesn’t want to tell him—either of them, really—how the other tire got slashed. 

“We didn’t want to leave you high and dry on the case! Though, seriously, why did you think you needed Derek on this one?”

“Animal attack.” 

“Yeah, because they’re running an illegal dogfighting ring.” 

“A what?!” 

“Dude.” 

The Sheriff looks at Derek for confirmation and get a solemn nod in return. 

“Horses not zebras,” the Sheriff mumbles and Stiles laughs.[12] “Well, thanks. So, you’re heading out in the morning? Did you check the gas, the oil, and the tires?” 

Derek coughs and Stiles makes murder eyes at him. “Derek offered to drive me up in his sports car.”

“And what definition of ‘offered’ are we using here, Stiles?” 

“Daaaaaaaad!” 

“Well, as long as it’s not under duress. … I guess I know what the thank-you pie is for, then.” 

“What do you know about thank-you pie?! Dad, did you have … Derek, did you let my dad have pie?” 

Derek ignores the question and stands up to leave. “I guess I better go. Good night.”

“Answer me about the pie.” 

The Sheriff whispers, “Plead the Fifth, Derek,” with a wink. 

Stiles just gapes at them for a minute and then points back and forth between them sternly. “I regret ever introducing you two.” 

“Me too,” Derek says solemnly. Both Stilinksis startle. “Ended up in _handcuffs_.” 

“Oops? Do you want apology brownies?” 

“Thought I was making the brownies.” 

“What’s this about brownies?” the Sheriff asks. 

“None for you!” 

“Well, it’s a good thing I already had pie then, I guess,” the Sheriff says as he settles down to watch some _Perry Mason_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [9] <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ma_Nishtana>
> 
> [10] <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pearl_(Steven_Universe)>
> 
> [11] <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGf4ObRAfRQ>
> 
> [12] [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zebra_(medicine)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zebra_\(medicine)


	7. Day 7

Stiles doesn’t get a reply when he texts Derek in the morning, but when he tumbles down the stairs to see if he can catch his dad before work, Derek is already there, carrying in a casserole dish and 4 large-ish plastic containers. 

“What’s all this, son?”

Stiles just stares until the Sheriff waves Derek off toward the kitchen. 

“I was restless last night, so I figured I’d put it to good use.” 

“Am I going to like any of this, or is it just stuff that’ll make Stiles happy?” 

“Both, I hope. There’s a veggie lasagna that’s pretty good. And the muffins from before. A balsamic vegetable salad with feta. And fruit salad.” 

“What’s in the other one?” Stiles asks, wary. 

“What? Oh, just more muffins,” he says with a straight face, but the Sheriff catches on. 

“Thanks, Derek. They didn’t even taste healthy last time.”

Stiles grins. 

“They are,” Derek promises. 

“Yeah, dad. I checked the recipe and everything. Just don’t put butter on it.” 

“This house hasn’t seen real butter in at least a decade,” the Sheriff laments. “Well, I really appreciate this, Derek. I certainly won’t go hungry while you’re gone.” He pats him on the shoulder and then starts putting the food away. 

Stiles bounces on his feet. “Ready, Freddy?” 

“It’s not too late to back out, Derek,” the Sheriff jokes. 

“It’s this or rescue him halfway when the Jeep breaks down.” 

“Hey!” 

“Ok, boys. Have fun. Be good.” 

“Yeah, Derek,” Stiles grins. “ _You_ be good, and _I’ll_ have fun.” 

The Sheriff says “ _Ma Nishtana_ ” at the same time Derek says “That’s different how?” 

Stiles stomps off upstairs to get changed, and Derek and the Sheriff smile fondly at his back. 

When Derek’s filling the car up with gas later, his phone buzzes with a message from the Sheriff: “Your a prince amount men. I’ll take the secret to my have.” 

Of course Stiles steals his phone immediately, and they’re three exits down the road before Derek convinces him that he’s not lying about the brownies being made with stevia and tofu.[13]

“I should, like, hire you as Dad’s personal chef or something. Seriously, I love you for this, man. Do you take IOUs?” 

Derek clears his throat. “I’ll put it on your tab,” he chokes out as Stiles’s starts singing only halfway on key to the first track of his “Beach Better Have My Money” playlist.[14]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [13] <http://chocolatecoveredkatie.com/2011/06/10/im-obsessed-with-this-dessert>
> 
> [14] Soooooo NSFW: <https://www.vevo.com/watch/rihanna/bitch-better-have-my-money-(explicit)/QM5FT1590005>


End file.
